


It's A Classic

by PunkPinkPower



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkPinkPower/pseuds/PunkPinkPower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He comes to Sarah’s family coffee shop in the fall, wearing one of those large and ridiculous coats that look like a cape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Classic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhynixCaskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhynixCaskey/gifts).



> This is somewhat also inspired by a post on Tumblr which states that a Sarah before the Sarah of the movie must have written the book, but that's as far as the theory goes here. Linked here, if interested: http://glamdamnit.tumblr.com/post/55713093884/my-sister-asked-if-the-events-of-the-labyrinth

He comes to Sarah’s family coffee shop in the fall, wearing one of those large and ridiculous coats that look like a cape. The first time she sees him, she thinks he must be some sort of renaissance faire actor or perhaps a circus performer. His long blond hair is tied back in a pony tail, and he orders an English Muffin with a medium Chai Tea. She’s too far away to be sure, but she thinks she sees some glitter on his cheeks. 

Her mother always complains about people who order tea. “Honestly,” she says, folding dish towels in the back while Sarah washes canisters, “Why do they bother coming to coffee shops to order tea?” 

“If you hate it so much, why do you offer tea on the menu?” Sarah asks, her voice coming out surprisingly less annoyed than she is. 

“Oh,” her step-mother waves a hand, like she often does when she thinks Sarah doesn’t know what she is talking about, “You know those types, if you don’t offer it at all they pitch a fit and I’ll spend more time explaining why it isn’t up there than working.” She takes a long sip from her own hazelnut coffee before adding, “Besides, business is down. We can’t afford to be too choosy.” 

Sarah rolls her eyes. 

The man with the long hair and the cloak-coat starts coming in every Thursday and Sunday in the afternoon, orders the same thing, and reads from the same book. It’s a small little paperback with old wax binding, and it looks like he’s read it a thousand times. 

Sarah tries not to watch him when he’s there. She often has too much work to do to think much about him, but when he does come in she tries to smile warmly as she helps him. She isn’t very good with people who don’t live in books and fairytales, if she’s honest, but sometimes she imagines that maybe he does live in a fairytale, with his hair and glitter and cloak and old book. Perhaps he just pops into her reality every Thursday and Sunday for tea and quiet. 

It gives her courage to make eye contact, and then, eventually, to say more than his order total. 

On Sunday, she has his order ready for him when he arrives. “Here you go, Mr…” she trails off, pushing the English muffin and tea across the counter. 

He stares at it for a moment, not having ordered, and then he lifts slightly raised eyebrows at her before answering, “Jareth. You can call me Jareth.” He pulls out the regular amount of money from his pocket, exactly five dollars and thiry-seven cents, like always, and hands it to her. “Thank you,” he says, glancing down at her nametag for the first time, “Sarah.” 

He says her name like it’s important, like its valuable and exotic, and she maybe gets so caught up staring at him that she drops the change all over the floor. 

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” she flushes, and bends down to pick up the money. 

She thinks she hears him chuckle, but when she stands back up with the change, he’s already at his table, book in hand. 

***

The next time she gets the nerve to talk to him, she’s running the shop by herself. It’s a Thursday afternoon, this time, and there are only a few people in the shop. Jareth is one of them, and he is sitting at his regular table. 

She pours a fresh hot chai tea and walks over. She also ignores the way her hands tremble. 

“On the house,” she says as she sets the cup down in front of him next to his empty one. 

Jareth looks up from his tiny book at her, his face neutral. Then a large and somewhat uneasy smile comes onto his face. He closes his book and sets it down to accept the tea, and takes a sip. “Why, thank you, Sarah.” 

Sarah nods, wrings her hands in front of her as she tries to find something to say. 

Jareth sets his tea back down on that table and looks around the coffee shop. “Would you like to sit down?” He asks, standing and walking around her to pull out the chair across from him, “If you don’t have anything else to do at the moment?”

“Oh,” Sarah says, having more thoughts about fairy tale princes as she watches him pull the chair out, “Sure.” 

They sit down, and Jareth takes another sip of his tea. 

Sarah’s eye catches on the book, and she opens her mouth to say something and then closes it. Deciding, she starts again. “That book you’re always reading,” Sarah says, pointing to it, “It must be very good.” 

Jareth raises an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“Well,” Sarah shrugs, “You read it all the time. I’ve never seen you with another book.” 

Jareth smiles warmly, picking up the little book. “I wasn’t aware you paid that much attention, Sarah.”

There is it again. The way he says her name, like she’s someone worthy of praise, like she’s someone to be feared. It both gives her courage and makes her cheeks burn. 

“This book,” Jareth continues, tossing it lightly from hand to hand, “Is a very old book, and yes, it is very good. It’s called,” Jareth pauses, and holds the book out to her, “The Labyrinth.” 

Sarah reaches out for the book. Jareth pulls it back at the last second, making Sarah freeze, but then he smiles and holds it out to her again, this time allowing her to take it. It makes her feel like a child all over again, being teased by a bully. Only Jareth isn’t a bully… at least, she doesn’t think so. 

“The Labyrinth,” Sarah repeats, glancing at the title, running her hand over the old binding, “By Sarah Smith.” 

“Sarah,” Jareth says, “Is also the name of the protagonist of that book. You have a very special name, Sarah.” 

Sarah looks up, some understanding dawning on her as she holds the tiny book. Her name is important. At least, it is to Jareth. “What’s the story about?” 

Jareth considers this. “I tell you what,” he says, picking up his tea and standing. Sarah stands too, still holding onto the book. “What don’t you read it, and find out?” 

“Are you sure?” Sarah asks as Jareth turns to leave the shop, and he waves his hand at her. 

“Enjoy the story, Sarah,” Jareth says, pushing open the door and giving her a small smile, “It’s a classic.”


End file.
